


The Consulting Pirate

by CopperBreeches



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBreeches/pseuds/CopperBreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson, injured ex-army doctor is convinced nothing ever happens to him. Looking for a flatmate he's introduced to Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting pirate. Suddenly John finds himself thrown onto a world of 'ahoys', funny hats and plank related murders. He can hardly say his life boring, even if hammocks are not ideal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consulting Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> You may have guessed this fic is rather made of crack based on the thought - what if Sherlock had carried through on his early ambition to be a pirate? I've used the plot of ASiP but given everything a piratey theme. 
> 
> Written as part of [SherlockBigBang2012](http://sherlockbigbang.livejournal.com/profile). This means there's art! You can see the [lovely artwork](http://numberthescars.livejournal.com/25769.html) for this fic by the lovely [numberthescars](http://numberthescars.livejournal.com/). 
> 
> Many thanks to [leopardwrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardwrites/pseuds/leopardwrites) for cheerleading, encouragement and Betaness. Thanks also to [staticsilhouette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/staticsilhouette/pseuds/staticsilhouette) for also cheerleading, encouraging and feedback-ing.

Sometimes John wondered how his life would have ended up if he'd chosen not to take a short cut through the park that day. Or if he'd taken a different path through it, or if he hadn’t been spotted by Mike. It didn't do much to wonder, however, as he had been stopped by Mike, they'd had a coffee together and John's life was never to be the same again.

They got to talking about what they had been up to. Mike had gone into teaching and had got fat, John had joined the army and got shot. They didn't have much in common but Mike knew John could never stay anywhere but London, of course that was an issue given John's lack of funds.

“Couldn't Harry help? Mike asked.

“Yeah like that's going to happen,” John replied. “What I need is a flatmate, but who'd want me for flatmate?”

Mike smiled. “You're the second person to say that to me today. Well, not those exact words...”

John barely caught the second part of Mike's sentence. “Who was the first?” he asked, curious. There was no guarantee he'd end up with a flatmate but John was desperate enough to investigate any possibility. 

Mike didn’t tell him the guy's name, just said it was someone who was a regular at Bart's. John tried to get more information out of his old friend but kept getting the same answer: “You'll understand when you meet him.” 

As they walked into one of the labs, John looked around and saw the changes. “Bit different from my day,” he said before noticing a man in what could only be described as a pirate costume bending over a microscope. 

“Hello, this is an old fried of mine, John Watson,” Mike said, ambling over, apparently finding nothing at all strange in there being a pirate in a medical lab. 

“Mike, I need to plunder your phone,” the pirate said. 

“And what's wrong with the landline?” Mike asked. 

The pirate sighed. “I'm a pirate, I don't use landlines. You can't have a landline at sea. And Scotland Yard won't accept any of my homing seagulls.”

Patting himself down, Mike gave a rueful smile. “Sorry, left it in my other coat.”

John wasn't sure whether he was hallucinating or if there was a pirate wearing a blue coat, breeches and a pirate hat, complete with feather. He looked as if he had just stepped off a film set. “I'm sorry, homing seagulls?”

The pirate whirled around and walked straight up to John. John would have described said walk as a swagger. That was what pirates did, wasn’t it? “Oh, an army doctor recently invalided home from Afghanistan or possibly Iraq. Do you get seasick?” the pirate asked. 

“Erm... no, I don't,” John said, wondering why the pirate was asking. There wasn't actually a sea in London. 

“Do you know any sea shanties? I play the fiddle when I'm thinking and it would be nice to have someone join in.”

“I think I know a couple. 'What shall we do with a drunken sailor?'” It was the only one John could name off the top of his head. 

“Well it's not the best example but it'll do. I need a first mate and I need one quickly. Do you mind sleeping in a hammock?”

“I'm sorry, what's this about a first mate?”

“I'm a pirate captain, I need a first mate. You need a place to stay and I have plenty of spare space on my ship.”

“You have a ship,” John said. Of course it made perfect sense, a pirate with a pirate ship. “In London?”

“Of course,” the pirate said as if that fact was obvious. “There is a large river running through the city.”

“I was looking for flatmate not a ship mate,” John said. 

“And I'm offering you accommodation. The ship's owner has given me a special rate. If we plunder a few galleons we'll easily be able to afford it.”

The pirate leaned forward, dived into John's coat pocket and, before John could stop him, pulled out his phone. John was annoyed at the obvious violation of his person. 

“Hey do you mind? That's my phone!”

“Sorry, I just plundered it. Need to send a text,” the pirate said, unrepentant. He was already tapping away. “Shame your alcoholic brother has given you an aversion to rum, we pirates do like to drink a lot of it.”

“I'm not a pirate,” John said. “And how do you know all those things about me?”

“The best pirates know to observe people,” the pirate said, having finished the text. He gave John a piercing glance. “Your haircut and the way you hold yourself says military, army not navy, but your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's. So an army doctor then. You've got a tan so you've recently served in either Afghanistan or Iraq.” He held up the phone. “Your phone is new but it's had a previous owner and the inscription on the back suggests a close family member, probably a brother.” The pirate turned the phone around. “The scratches around the power socket suggest shaking fingers when the previous owner went to plug it in. You never see a drunk's phone without them. And it's not been well cared for, scratches over time, alcoholic then. Just left his wife as otherwise why would he give the phone away?”

John was impressed. All that from one glance at a phone. He hadn't even noticed the pirate hadn't handed it back. “Amazing.”

“Really?”

“It was extraordinary.”

“Oh. Most people tell me to piss off. Though that might be way I hold them to ransom.” The pirate cocked his head, taking in the cane John was holding. “You also have a psychosomatic limp. Not quite a peg leg but I suppose it'll do.”

“I don't even know your name,” John pointed out. “What am I supposed to call you? Captain?”

“When we're a aboard ship, yes. The name's Captain Sherlock Holmes,” he went over to the door. “I have to dash, I left my cutlass in the mortuary. Meet me at the ship, about seven-ish?”

“Where is it?” John asked. He was sure he would have heard about a pirate ship docked in London before now. 

“Oh it's docked on the Thames, not far from London bridge. I'm sure you'll find it. Afternoon.” With that Captain Sherlock Holmes left the room, his coat billowing as he did so. 

John turned to Mike in disbelief. “Is he an actual pirate?”

“Oh yeah. He took your mobile. Consider yourself plundered, mate. Well, first mate. Congratulations.”

John belatedly realised he had lost his mobile, stolen by a thieving pirate. Surely Captains weren't meant to plunder their potential first mates? Even though the idea of sleeping in a hammock wasn't that appealing, John was determined to meet Pirate Captain Sherlock Holmes and at least get his mobile back. He wouldn't admit it but he was also keen to see the pirate ship. This was the most interesting thing to happen to him in ages. 

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

It was a lot easier to find the ship than John had expected. He'd felt a bit embarrassed asking the cabbie if he could drive him to a pirate ship moored on the Thames near London bridge. The cabbie had answered “Know just the one, mate.” and so John had found himself standing on the embankment looking at the place, the pirate ship, that might be his new home. 

The ship itself wasn't that big, well compared to the old sailing ships John had seen as a child when he’d visited Portsmouth. It was compact and John guessed the size would be an advantage to a pirate who wanted a small manoeuvrable ship. The sails were all tucked up leaving the masts bare. A lone jolly roger flew from the top (with crossed cutlasses instead of bones). The bottom half of the ship was painted black. 

John wasn't really sure what the etiquette was at this point. You couldn't exactly knock on the front door, it didn't have one. Yell? Bang on the side of the ship? John didn't know. He coughed awkwardly, looking around to make sure there wasn't a big audience. If he was going to yell out 'Captain Holmes' he wanted to reduce his public embarrassment as much as possible.

“Ahoy! First mate John!” came the booming voice of said pirate captain. He was stood at the top of the gangplank. 

“Captain Holmes?” John called up.

“Captain Sherlock, please,” he replied. “Come on up.”

John steeled himself and then slowly made his way up the gangplank. The wood creaked uneasily under his feet and John didn't really want to look down. It wouldn't really be a good idea for a potential first mate to fall off the gang plank before he'd even got aboard the ship. His limp wasn't helping either. 

When he stepped on deck, Captain Sherlock shook his hand. “Welcome aboard the Two Two One B,” he said.

“Catchy name for a ship,” John said. It was the most ridiculous name for a pirate ship he'd ever heard. 

“It was christened 'The Baker',” Sherlock said. “Not really the sort of name that conjures up the images of pirates. I've tried to get Mrs Hudson to change it but she refuses so I refer to it by its registration number.”

“Do you actually own this ship?” he asked.

“Rent, but that's a minor detail. I could easily requisition the ship if I needed to but Mrs Hudson is useful to have as part of my crew.”

There was a call from the cabin across the deck and an older lady stepped out. She wasn't dressed as a pirate, unless pirates had started wearing floral dresses. “Yoo hoo!” she called.

“Mrs Hudson it's 'ahoy' not 'yoo hoo',” Sherlock said. “John this is our other crew member; Mrs Hudson.”

“Pleased to meet you,” John said.

She smiled and shook his hand. “I'm so glad Sherlock got himself a crew member. No-one's been interested in joining the ship. I don't know why, the hammocks are very comfortable. I've washed the pillows too. If you'll be needing them.”

“Of course I'll be needing them,” John said. Why had no-one come aboard before? “So you've not got a full crew then?”

“It's difficult to find people with the right qualities, John,” Sherlock said. “I can't be a Captain without a crew and I think you'll do well.”

“Why?”

“You've seen a lot of trouble?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded. “Yes, enough for a lifetime.”

“Want to see some more?”

John didn't hesitate. “Oh god, yes.”

“Then welcome to piracy, John.” Sherlock went into his pocket and then held out John's phone. 

John took it gratefully. “Thank you,” he said.

“I don't take booty from my own crew First Mate John,” Sherlock sad. “It was sort of a ransom to get you to come. I might need to borrow it again but that's Captain's prerogative.”

John pocketed his phone. “Well, good to know even pirates have morals,” he said.

“A pirate code, John,” Sherlock replied. “Now Mrs Hudson can get us some grog and some ships biscuits. I believe we might have some salted ham on board.”

“I'm your landlady, dear, not your ship's cook,” Mrs Hudson replied. 

“We're not on land,” John murmured without thinking and he giggled. A pirate with a landlady, it was crazy. 

He was surprised when Sherlock joined in. He laughed, a nice laugh for a pirate, John thought. 

“I'll make you boys a cup of tea,” Mrs Hudson said, opening a hatch and going below deck. 

“Grog, Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock called. “Not tea. Pirates don't drink tea.”

John heard her voice echoing up from below decks.

“Fine, call it grog but you need a nice cuppa.”

“So Captain Sherlock,” John said, not bothering to keep a smile off his face. “What do pirates do?”

Sherlock looked as if he was about to answer before they heard the sound of several cars down below and John thought he saw flashing blue lights. Sherlock peered over the side. 

“Finally,” he said. “John, as a Consulting Pirate, the only one in the world, I assist the police when they are out of their depth. Which is always. Will you as first mate assist me?”

It was a very tempting offer. “Of course,” John replied. It wasn’t what he imagined pirates did, but it actually sounded more interesting that just raiding ships. And Sherlock was like no pirate he had ever met. Not that he had met any before, but clearly Sherlock was special. He did have a feather in his hat and Consulting Pirate sounded impressive. 

They watched as a plain clothes officer got out of one of the cars and walked up the gangplank. He stopped toward the top. “Permission to come aboard?” he asked.

“Permission granted, Lestrade,” Sherlock replied and strode over in a very firm manner. “Do you have something I and my crew can assist you with?”

“Crew?” Lestrade asked.

“This is my first mate,” Sherlock said. “John Watson. John this is Detective Inspector Lestrade, New Scotland Yard.”

John nodded. “Hello.”

“What do you need a first mate for?” Lestrade asked, giving John a once over, clearly John wasn't what he expected. John wondered if it was because of his clothes. 

“To assist me. All Pirate Captains need one,” Sherlock said. “So what is it?”

“You know those suicides?” Lestrade asked. “The ones that walked the plank?”

“I have been keeping up with the news, Lestrade,” Sherlock said. “You've read it in the papers, John?”

John remembered reading about some odd suicides but he didn't think they'd walked the plank. “Vaguely,” he said. 

“This one was different, wasn't it?” Sherlock asked.

“She left a note,” Lestrade said. 

Sherlock drew his cutlass. “We'll assist you, Lestrade!” he said. “And bring the perpetrator to swift justice. Mrs Hudson! Prepare to set sail.”

“The body was found in Brixton, Sherlock,” Lestrade said. Sherlock glared. “Sorry, Captain Sherlock.”

“Inland!” Sherlock said, disappointed as he put his cutlass back into its sheath. “Why are they always inland? No, don't answer that.”

“Will you come?” Lestrade asked.

“We'll get a cab,” Sherlock replied. “We have the reputation of pirates to uphold and we can't do that travelling in a police car.”

“All right, Lauriston Gardens is the address,” Lestrade said. He gave a quick glance back toward John. “I'll see you there.”

As soon as Lestrade was out of ear shot John saw that even though the suicide was inland, Sherlock was still looking pleased. “A plank suicide, John!” he said. Then he turned to yell below deck. “Mrs Hudson! John and I are going out!”

“Will you be long?” she called.

“Not sure. We'll have some biscuits later!” Sherlock called, grabbing John. 

“Not your ship's cook!” John heard Mrs Hudson call. 

Sherlock was already pulling him across the deck to the gang plank. “Come on, John, we've got pirating to do!” he said. 

Despite his limp, John eagerly followed Captain Sherlock down the gang plank. He wasn't exactly sure what the pirating would entail but his heart was beating hard and his skin was tingling with excitement. Maybe he was cut out to be a pirate after all.

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

Clearly the cabbies of London were used to Pirate Captains leaping in front of them with their cutlasses drawn to stop them. At least the one behind the wheel of the taxi they used was. Either that or driving in London had hardened him to its more eccentric side. He didn't seem bothered when Sherlock refused to pay him. 

“A pirate never pays when he can plunder,” Sherlock said. 

John suspected the threat of a cutlass in his face had been the deciding factor for the cabbie. Though he didn't want to say anything as he hadn't actually got any money to pay the cabbie himself. And the man didn't seem too traumatised, in fact he'd said something about it making a good story for the grandchildren. 

Once they had reached the crime scene, Sherlock put his cutlass away and did his usual pirate swagger to the crime scene tape. 

“Hello, Captain Freak,” the female plain clothes officer behind the line said. 

“Inspector Lestrade has asked for my help,” Sherlock said, keeping his hands behind his back, although John was sure that if the situation required it Sherlock would easily pull out his cutlass. 

“Has he now?” the officer said.

“Yes, Sally, he has. I think he thinks my expertise would be useful.”

“And how do we know it's not you pushing these poor sods off planks? I mean that's what pirates do isn't it?”

Although John didn't have much experience with pirates and had seen Sherlock be rather too eager to draw a weapon for flagging down a cab, he felt that Sherlock would never force anyone to walk the plank, at least not without good reason. “Is there some sort of code about walking the plank?” John asked.

“My first mate is quite correct. And walking the plank is traditionally done over water. I can't see even a pond around here, can you, Sally?”

“Wait, you're his first mate? How did you get a first mate?”

Sherlock smiled but more in a 'I'm a pirate and could kill you with one blow' way rather than a polite way. “Yes, Sergeant Donovan this is my First Mate John Watson. He recently came aboard the two two one B.”

“Oh you poor sod. You're not even a pirate.”

“I think you'll find, Sally,” Sherlock said, warningly. “That I'm a far better judge of pirates than you.” He lifted up the tape to the crime scene. “Come along, John,” he said. “We've a plank to examine.”

They went toward the house and were met at the door by a man in a blue forensic suit. 

“Try not to contaminate the crime scene,” the man said. “You pirates aren't known for your hygiene.”

“Anderson,” Sherlock said, sniffing the air. “But you are. Your deodorant is for men.”

“Of course it is! I'm wearing it.”

“And so is Sergeant Donovan. You know, if you need your floors scrubbing that regularly you should really hire a crew member.”

They left Anderson spluttering in their wake as they went inside the house. The house itself was abandoned, old. Paint peeling off the walls and the floors were bare. The body was lying in a room on the bottom floor. It was a blonde haired woman, dressed in pink. There was a trial of dark red blood trailing back from the body and toward the stairs. It looked as if she had crawled into the room from the bottom of the stairwell. Despite her strength when badly injured she hadn't survived.

Lestrade was already there, standing over the body. “Jennifer Wilson, mid-thrties, no suicidal tendencies as far as we know.”

Sherlock bent down and began looking over the body. “She did have a series of lovers though, possibly a sex addiction although that could be due to the poor state of her marriage. She's been married at least ten years,” he said, sliding the victims wedding ring off and then putting it back. 

“How do you know that?” John asked.

“The rest of her jewellery is clean but her wedding ring is dirty except for the inside. It got use when she worked it off her finger,” Sherlock said. “I need an opinion on the cause of death,” he said.

It wasn’t easy for John to bend down with his leg but he managed it. His leg wasn't aching really, it just felt a little stiff. He carefully looked at the woman's limbs, the way she was lying. He picked up her arm and felt a break in her wrist. “Cause of death I'd say blunt force trauma. She’s got several shattered bones, from the way she's lying her legs and possibly her pelvis. She's got a nasty head injury. She was unlucky not to die on impact,” he said.

“Unlucky?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock was wiping a hand across the woman's coat. “Surely, Lestrade, even you can realise that she must have been in great pain. Are we sure she fell from a plank?”

“Yes. There's a plank sticking out from the third floor. It's actually a couple of floorboards from a room up there made to look like one. She must have removed them and then used them to jump.”

“It's obviously murder, Lestrade. If she wanted to commit suicide she'd just jump, she wouldn't go to trouble of performing DIY so she could walk along a plank and then fall to her death. First Mate John, I need your phone.”

“Again?” John asked as he pulled his phone out.

“Mine's out of battery, hard to get electricity on board a pirate ship, the generator cut out last night,” Sherlock said, taking the phone from John's hand and pressing keys. 

“She's written something on the floor,” Lestrade pointed out. “Her note.”

Sherlock was still focused on the phone and merely 'hmmmmed' in response. 

“Shows that if it was murder, one of you lot did it,” came the voice of Anderson. John looked up to see him lingering in the doorway. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock said, handing the phone back to John and feeling in the woman's pockets. John noticed Sherlock had been using the weather app. 

“She's written 'parlay', isn't that part of your pirate code? To negotiate a truce?” Anderson asked.

“You spell that parley, 'l' 'e' 'y',” Sherlock said. “She's written 'l' 'a' 'y'. Totally different meaning, Parlay is used in gambling. Someone was gambling with her life. Or made her bet her life and she clearly lost.”

“Fantastic,” John said. Sherlock was, in John's opinion, quite brilliant. 

“All part of knowing the pirate code, John,” Sherlock said. 

“She's come from Cardiff,” Sherlock said. “Came earlier today to stay for one night. Was her suitcase upstairs?”

“What suitcase?” Lestrade asked. 

Anderson spoke up. “If it was a pirate maybe he took it away as booty.”

“Then why would he leave her jewellery?” John asked, thinking out loud. “I mean that's got to be worth something.”

Sherlock smiled. “My first mate is correct. Jewellery is easy to conceal and easy to sell on. Well done, John.”

Sherlock's praise gave John a warm feeling in his chest. It was nice. 

“Okay, but from Cardiff?” Lestrade asked. “How did you know?”

“Weather patterns, Lestrade,” Sherlock replied, standing up. “All captains have to know weather patterns. Her coat is wet but she has an umbrella in her pocket that's dry and unused. She was somewhere where it was windy, too windy to use an umbrella and raining hard. Her coat's not dry so that narrows down her travelling time. The only place near enough to London that's had those weather conditions is Cardiff,” Sherlock said.

“Amazing,” John said.

Sherlock gave him a smile. “Only what any good Captain would know.” He turned to Lestrade. “Now where is her suitcase? Splash pattern on her legs shows she had one.”

“We didn’t find a suitcase,” Lestrade said.

“Oh, of course!” Sherlock said, rushing out of the room so fast John couldn't keep up. 

“What?” Lestrade asked. “Sher... Captain Sherlock?”

“Her killer made a mistake!” Sherlock yelled as he ran out of the house. “It's not booty!”

John with his leg took a bit longer to get out of the house and by the time he did his pirate captain was nowhere in sight. He looked up and down the road but decided not to yell out. 

“Abandoned you already has he?” came the voice of Sergeant Donovan as John stood by the crime scene tape. “He doesn't have a crew you know.”

“He does now,” John replied. John was still loyal to Sherlock who had obviously not left John behind on purpose. Yes, it stung a little to be forgotten but Sherlock hadn't actually had a first mate before and John wasn't the quickest on his feet. 

“Oh he'll abandon you too you know. He gets off on this, investigating the crimes of other pirates. Not a normal pirate if you ask me.”

John glared. “I didn't, and I think that Captain Sherlock is a better pirate than you'll find anywhere.” He nudged the police tape with his cane. “So if you'll excuse me.”

Grudgingly, Sergeant Donovan lifted the tape up and John set off in the rough direction he thought Sherlock had gone. He could hardly catch a cab back to the ship. He didn’t have any money. Nor did he have a cutlass. 

He walked, well limped, back along the main road and had to admit he was lost. He took out his phone and he was so busy trying to use the map app to work out where he was that he didn’t notice the black car pull alongside and stop next to him. When he did look up he saw a woman dressed in black pointing a sword in his face.

“Please get in the car, First Mate John Watson,” she said.

John could see the blade glinting under the street lights, it was obviously very sharp. “All right,” he said, and got in, sliding along the back seat. “Who are you?”

“A member of the Queen's forces,” she said, smiling. “My boss will explain more.”

“Your boss?”

“Hmmm,” was the only answer he got.

John wasn’t sure where exactly he'd been driven to, but when the car stopped he got out into a strange warehouse. At least that was what it looked like. There were piles of crates and straight in front a chair and a man standing opposite. A man dressed in a suit looking like an ordinary civil servant. An ordinary civil servant who had a PA with a sword, apparently. 

John walked toward him.

“Ah, John Watson, once a soldier and now a pirate,” the man said.

“Who are you?” John asked.

“I work for the forces of law and order,” the man replied. “I'm very well acquainted with one of London's resident pirates,” the man said smiling. “Do sit down if your leg is hurting you,” he said, indicating the chair with his umbrella. As he did so John saw the gleam of a concealed blade.

“I'd rather stand,” he said.

“Ah, yes the pirate way,” the man said, smiling. “How do you know Captain Holmes?”

“I met him this afternoon,” John said. It felt so long ago now. It felt like he'd known Sherlock a lot longer. 

“And already you've agreed to become his First Mate, how charming,” the man said. “Do you think you're cut out for a life of piracy?”

“That's none of your business.”

“My business is the business of the crown and everyone, even pirates are governed by that, but I can see by your left hand that you've already decided on a life plundering the high seas,” he said.

“What?” John raised his hand and looked at it. 

“You thrive on danger, look - your hand is perfectly steady under stress,” the man said. “The life of a pirate will suit you. Now I can offer you a generous sum if you were also to give me information.”

“Information on Sherlock?” John asked, guessing. 

“Sherlock is it?” the man said. “Yes. I do need information on your captain. The rewards would be worth it.”

“I don't spy on my Captain,” John said, firmly. He respected and liked Sherlock too much to even think about it. 

“Ah, very well, the pirates' code and all that I imagine. I've enjoyed our chat, John,” the man said, indicating the chat was over. “My assistant will take you back to your ship.”

“Who are you?” John asked again.

“Captain Holmes's arch enemy,” the man said, turning around and walking away, twirling his umbrella as he did so. “Goodbye, First mate Watson.”

John limped back to the car. “Please take me back to my ship,” he said. Funny, how he already thought of a vessel he had spent about ten minutes on as his ship. He hadn't even paid any rent yet. 

“Of course,” the woman with the sword said. 

It was a relief to be dropped off back at 'The Baker'. John was glad to see the ship again. He even made it up the gangplank, in the dark, which he thought was a fairly impressive feat without a torch. Once on board he saw the deck deserted and there were no lights on in the Captain’s cabin. John wondered where Sherlock was but thought perhaps he was below deck. Pulling up a hatch he headed down below. 

The lower decks were surprisingly easy to navigate and there was plenty of headroom. John suspected because Sherlock would never pick a boat on which he had to stoop. It would be undignified for a Pirate Captain to do so. He found Sherlock lounging in a hammock chewing on something. When he saw John approaching Sherlock took it out of his mouth and placed it on a nearby beam. 

“Were you chewing tobacco?” John asked, looking up at the small plugs of a brown substance. Three of them neatly lined up on the beam. 

“You can't really smoke on board ship,” Sherlock said, waving an arm. “Might ignite the gunpowder.”

“Gun powder?” John had seen a few cannons but he had assumed they were for decoration. “You do know chewing tobacco is just as bad for you?”

“I only do it when I need to think,” Sherlock said. “It helps.”

“Three plugs?”

“It's a three plug problem,” Sherlock said, sitting up and elegantly rolling out of the hammock to land on his feet. “Where were you?”

“I was kidnapped by the forces of law and order.”

“Oh, him,” Sherlock said in near disgust. “I suppose he wanted you to spy on me?”

“Yes,” John said. “Who is he?”

“A dangerous man who doesn't believe in piracy as a career choice,” Sherlock said, starting to pace. “Did you take the money?”

“Of course not!” John said. “I didn't think it was in the pirate code.”

“Well, the pirate code can be flexible. We could have split the booty. But your loyalty is noted,” Sherlock said, leaping up onto one of the benches and then onto the table. “In the meantime we have this.” He pointed to a pink suitcase on the table, John hadn't noticed it earlier. 

“That's a pink suitcase. The victim's suitcase?”

Sherlock jumped down and sat on the bench. “Yes. I found it in a skip. Not booty, a mistake the killer made.”

John came closer and saw the contents roughly strewn around. “You've looked inside?”

“Yes, everything is there but her mobile phone. So where is it? It wasn't on the body, it's not in the suitcase so...”

It wasn't hard for John to realise what Sherlock was aiming at. “The killer has it?”

“Yes. All we need to do is lure him in. Like a pirate ship flying the king's colours.”

“How do we do that?” John asked, sitting down on the bench opposite. “We can't just change the flag and hope he appears.”

“We send him a text,” Sherlock said. “Her phone number is on the suitcase label,” Sherlock said, flipping it up. “We send a text to her phone that gets him interested.”

“And he comes looking to see who sent him the text?”

Sherlock leapt up. “Exactly. You'll have to send it. My phone is still charging.”

John took out his phone for the third time since he'd met Sherlock. “Do you even have a phone?” he asked. 

“Every pirate has to have some sort of communication device. Although most people don't seem to understand international maritime signal flags.” He sounded disappointed. 

“Okay what do I send?” John asked. 

“Jennifer told me what happened at Lauriston Gardens. Need to speak with you. Meet me at twenty two Northumberland street.”

John dutifully typed out the message. “That's inland,” he pointed out.

“But a short walk along the embankment,” Sherlock replied. “Have you sent it?”

John pressed the button. “Yes,” he said. 

Sherlock swung into action going to the ladder and climbing up it. “Come on, John. If your phone rings, ignore it. We're going to ambush him. Shame we don't have time to weigh anchor,” he said. 

John followed Sherlock up the ladder. He was in such a rush he didn't notice he had left his cane behind. On deck, John took a moment to enjoy the night air. Sherlock on the other hand was already racing down the gangplank. 

“Come on, John!” he yelled. 

John raced down after him, not worrying about the fact the gangplank was bowing slightly under their eagerness. He didn't even hear his phone ringing and then stop. 

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

It was a surprise to John that Sherlock took him to an Italian restaurant to wait for the killer to appear. 

“I didn't think pirates ate Italian food,” John said as they were warmly greeted by the owner. 

“Not usually but I helped Angelo here avoid a murder charge,” Sherlock explained. “I proved he was the other side of London smuggling expensive wine. He only got a few months in prison, better than the alternative.”

Angelo certainly seemed happy to see them, giving them a table with an excellent view of the address Sherlock and John hoped their quarry would be drawn to. 

“Anything on the menu for you and your date,” Angelo said. 

“I'm sorry?” John said. “I'm his first mate.”

Angelo was smiling. “And you make a lovely couple. I'll get a candle.”

“I'd suggest you eat,” Sherlock said. “We're rarely in port for long.”

John was glancing at the menu. “I might try the pasta,” he said and then coughed awkwardly. “Erm.. about what Angelo said...”

“I try not to fraternise with my crew, John,” Sherlock said.

“Yes, of course, Captain.” John had been a little taken aback at being called Sherlock's date. He wasn't sure what had given that impression. Did pirate captains often take their dates to Italian restaurants? 

“It's not part of the pirate code,” Sherlock added. He sounded a little unsure. “Captains are entitled to do whatever they wish.”

“Of course,” John said, as Angelo returned bearing a candle. “I'll have the tomato pasta, please,” he told their host. For some reason John was a little hurt by the idea of there being distance between a captain and a first mate. So far he hadn't actually felt it, even having to call Sherlock 'Captain'. 

“I meant, John, that although at times it's important for a captain to maintain a distance the first mate is the one closest to the captain. The first mate is the second most important member of the crew after the captain, which makes the first mate the most important member of the crew to the captain.”

John decided that that was Pirate Captain Sherlock code for 'I actually like you John' so he smiled. They didn't really say anything else until Angelo came over with the pasta. 

“Aren't you eating?” John asked, digging in.

“A pirate captain can't have his wits slowed down by digestion,” Sherlock said. 

“Oh,” John wondered if he should put his fork down and stop himself. Should he show solidarity with his captain?

“You eat, John” Sherlock said. “As your Captain I can make it an order.”

John smiled and picked up another mouthful. “Aye aye, Captain,” he said. 

John had more or less finished his food when Sherlock suddenly got up. “Look, John,” he said, pointing across the road.

Looking out, John could see a taxi had pulled up outside the address they were watching. “Do you think it's him?” John asked. 

Sherlock strode to the door, John following. 

“Only one way to find out,” Sherlock said, opening the door and drawing his cutlass. John heard he gasps of a few of the diners and then Angelo's voice calming them down.

“It's all right,” Angelo was saying. “He's just a pirate.”

Sherlock strode out confidently and John followed. They had nearly reach the taxi when it suddenly pulled away. This didn't seem to worry Sherlock who set off in hot pursuit, with John following clse behind. 

Waving his cutlass, Sherlock managed to efficiently clear the street in front of them. He swung himself onto some stairs and climbed up them with the quickness and strength of a man who could climb rigging in high wind. At least that was how John saw it. 

They raced across rooftops, Sherlock obviously having an idea where they were going. They went down some more stairs and through a back alley. John saw the taxi ahead of them go past the alley mouth. That didn’t seem to worry Sherlock who dashed out and veered down a side street. 

A few moments later and they caught up with the taxi which had stopped in front of some traffic lights.

“Stop! Pirates!” Sherlock yelled and nearly threw himself in front of the taxi. 

John pulled up next to the taxi and looked at the man inside. He didn’t look very threatening but then maybe that was the whole point if he was a murderer. The man wound down the window only to be confronted with Sherlock’s cutlass his his face. 

“We're pirates and this is a raid,” Sherlock said. “Show us your gold.”

The man looked a little pale and held up his hands. “I don’t have any gold,” he said. “Just my wedding ring.”

Sherlock bent to examine it. “Oh please, it's a cheap metal alloy, probably to replace the original which you lost somewhere.” He turned to John. “This isn't our man,” he said.

“How do you know?” John asked. 

“His hands,” Sherlock relied. “Mild arthritis in his fingers. He couldn't have pulled up floorboards. And his luggage shows he's just arrived from the US.”

“Co-incidence?” John asked.

“Yes. We can't even plunder the taxi,” he said. “No decent booty here at all.” 

Sherlock lowered his cutlass. “Please be careful,” he said to the man. “There are plenty of pirates about and they won't all be as nice as we are.”

The man nodded and the taxi slowly pulled away, the traffic lights having changed to green. 

“Are there?” John asked.

“No, not really,” Sherlock replied. “But it's always good advice.”

John started to laugh and Sherlock joined in. 

“So is piracy always this exciting?” John asked, feeling a bit breathless at the thrill of the chase.

“It would be even better if we were on board ship,” Sherlock replied. “We should get back, we've been spending too much time on land. Although we need to see someone first.”

John noticed a couple of policemen heading their way. “Do you think we should run?” he asked.

“A pirate who runs away lives to pirate another day,” Sherlock said solemnly. “Always know when you should tactically retreat.”

The policemen were getting closer.

“Like now?” John asked.

“Now,” Sherlock agreed, and with a whirl of his coat he was off, John following closely in his wake. Only less dramatically. 

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

Before heading back to the ship, Sherlock took them back to St Bart's. Specifically: the morgue. It too had changed a bit since John's day but he couldn't work out why exactly they were there.

“You don't plunder the dead do you?” John asked.

“Of course not, John,” Sherlock said. “It's no fun when they're dead.”

“Then why are we here?”

Sherlock was abut to answer when a young woman in a lab coat walked in carrying a clipboard. Clearly a pathologist then, John thought. He caught sight of her name tag 'Molly Hooper' it read. 

“Oh, Captain Sherlock,” she said, stopping in her tracks when she noticed a pirate in her morgue. “Hello. Or is it ahoy?”

“Hello is acceptable when not at sea,” Sherlock said. “Molly, this is my first mate: John Watson.”

John held out a hand. He wasn't sure if pirates traditionally shook hands when greeting people but Sherlock didn't make any remark so apparently it was okay. 

Molly had trouble awkwardly balancing her clipboard so the handshake was brief. “Please to meet you,” she said. “I didn't know you were recruiting for your erm... crew,” she said to Sherlock.

“I'm always on the look out for crew members,” Sherlock said. “Any decent pirate comes into port looking for potential.”

“And you haven't seen any suitable crew members here?” Molly asked. She looked hopeful.

“Some people's talents are best spent on land,” Sherlock replied. “Not everyone is meant to be a pirate.”

John saw that Molly looked disappointed. “Yes, well, I suppose we can't all drink rum and go yo ho.”

“No, we can't,” Sherlock said. “We need to see the body of the latest walking the plank victim.”

Glancing down at her clipboard, Molly frowned. “I haven't had chance to do the autopsy yet,” he said. “She's only just come in.” She smiled apologetically.

“That's fine,” Sherlock said, striding over to the only body bag in the morgue. “I just need to check her feet.”

“Her feet?” Molly looked puzzled.

“Why her feet?” John asked. 

“Would you make someone walk a plank in high heels?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” John said, earning himself a smile from Sherlock.

“Exactly. Not part of the pirate code. If you would, Molly.”

Molly unzipped the body bag at the feet end. Jennifer Wilson was still wearing her shoes, pink of course. Sherlock removed them and examined them carefully. John could hear him mutter something about hardly suitable footwear. Glancing down at his own shoes, John wondered if he should be wearing boots. Sherlock's were nice leather ones that went up his calf, proper pirate ones presumably. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock said when his examination was complete.

“That's it?” Molly asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. “Come along, John, we must get back aboard ship.”

“Nice to meet you,” John called as he followed his Captain striding out of the morgue. John really hadn't got the pirate swagger quite right yet, but then he had recently had a limp. 

“What was that about?” John asked once they were outside.

“He made her walk the plank with high heels, he expected the fall to kill her,” Sherlock said. “High heels on an unstable plank of wood? She would fall before she reached the end.”

“Right,” John said. “How does that help us? We know he's not a pirate but we already knew that.”

“It's more information, John,” Sherlock replied. “The more information you know about a ship the better your strategy for attacking it,” he said.

“And the same applies to crazy people who murder people by making them walk off planks?” John guessed.

“Yes. First Mate John, you're doing well.”

Emboldened by the praise of his captain, John gave a warm smile. If anyone could solve these murders it would be Sherlock. 

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

When they reached the ship, John was surprised to discover several police cars parked outside and the deck was swamped with lights. 

“What's going on?” John asked. 

“A raid!” Sherlock said, cutlass now drawn. “Well, we'll see about this.” He headed up the gangplank with determination, John, as loyal first mate, following. 

“Oh, Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson said, as she greeted them on deck. “They’ve been through the stores, opening barrels. They’ve got limes all over the place and they've spilt the rum!”

“Don't worry, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock said. “John and I will sort this out.”

“Oh are you all right, John?” Mrs Hudson asked. “Only you left your cane.”

John hadn’t even thought about his leg at all. Now he did it felt no different from the other. A little stiff from the adrenaline and the running about but there was no pain. He moved it about slowly. “It's fine,” he said, quietly. 

“Of course it is, John,” Sherlock said impatiently as he opened the hatch to the lower decks. “It's not a peg leg. Come on, we have our pride as pirates to defend.”

As soon as they got below decks John could see the chaos Mrs Hudson was talking about. Barrels were being opened, hammocks were being upturned, rope was strewn all over. In the middle of it all was sat DI Lestrade.

“What is the meaning of this inspector?” Sherlock asked. 

“It's a raid. You pirates do know what a raid is?”

“Of course we do but the police do not raid. You're not in the right department.”

“Well, we do. And look what we found,” Lestrade said, indicating the open pink suitcase on the table behind him.

“I thought you said it wouldn't be taken as booty,” Anderson sneered as he picked up a tankard from one of the other tables. 

“It's not booty,” John said. “And Captain Sherlock wouldn't take evidence as booty.”

“Well, not all the time,” Sherlock said, quietly. “It's not exactly against the pirate code.”

John turned to look at Sherlock. He couldn't believe his Captain would do anything like that. Then again, as a pirate Sherlock had been on his own for some time, without even a crew. He just needed a first mate to help him, remind him of the rules of outside society, not just pirate society. 

“Look, Captain Sherlock found the suitcase,” John said. “And we know the killer has her phone. All you need to do it is trace the GPS signal.”

“First mate John is right,” Sherlock said. “There's no need for you to tear my ship apart while the killer is out there possibly choosing another victim.”

“All right,” Lestrade said, wearily getting up. “Come on everyone,” he said. 

Sherlock pulled the label off the case and handed it to Lestrade. “Her phone details,” he said. “Now can you please tell Sergeant Donovan to put one of my cannonballs down?”

“You heard him, Sally,” Lestrade said. “Drop it.”

Sergeant Donovan dropped the cannonball she'd been holding and John was relieved when it didn't break the deck but just thudded onto the wood. He watched as the police officers slowly filed out, some of them not hiding their disgust at seeing Sherlock’s tobacco plugs on the beam. 

John took quite a bit of satisfaction in the way Anderson tripped over some rope and, judging by the smile he shared with Sherlock, his captain thought it was funny too. 

“Next time, let us know about the evidence,” Lestrade said at the bottom of the ladder. He shook his head and headed up. 

“Now what?” John asked. 

Sherlock was eyeing up the tobacco plugs. “We need another plan,” he said. 

Mrs Hudson popped her head down the hatch. “Yoo hoo! There's a a taxi here for you, Sherlock,” she said.

“Mrs Hudson, it's still ahoy!” Sherlock said. “And I didn’t order a taxi.”

“I think you should tell him that then. He's been waiting ages,” Mrs Hudson said. And then she disappeared back into the deck above. 

“I won't be a moment, John,” Sherlock said. “Could you make sure our cargo is intact?”

John looked around at the mess. “I'll start to clear up,” he said.

“I know it's not the technical duty of a first mate,” Sherlock said, as if he were apologising. 

John smiled. “Don't worry about it. Just don't ask me to swab the deck before tomorrow.”

“I was thinking we'll need to splice the mainbrace,” Sherlock replied. He went over to the ladder. “I won't be long, John.”

With Sherlock gone, John began the task of tidying up. He moved the tankards back and started to attempt to untangle some of the rope when Mrs Hudson popped her head down again. 

“Did Sherlock tell where he was going?” she asked.

John wasn't aware Sherlock was going anywhere. “Do you mean he's gone?”

“Yes, just now,” Mrs Hudson said. “In a taxi.”

A taxi. A taxi had pulled up outside the address they had expected the murderer to appear at. John got a feeling of dread in his stomach. What if the passenger in the taxi wasn't the man they were after? What if the killer was the taxi driver? Sherlock had been taken, kidnapped, by the gangplank killer. John felt a bit sick. 

“He's been kidnapped,” John said. “Piratenapped. We need to work out where he's taken him.”

“Who?”

“The murderer.”

Although John could have rung Scotland Yard and got them to track the phone that would all take time and John wasn't sure how much time Sherlock had. Where would the killer take him? His other victims were all inland but Sherlock was a pirate. If you were going to make a pirate walk the plank you'd do it over water. 

“Mrs Hudson are there any abandoned ships near here?” John asked. 

“There's that tourist one about a mile down river,” she said. “It's been closed since autumn.”

John went up the ladder and onto the deck. Mrs Hudson had nearly fallen back in surprise. “We need to get under way,” John said. “Can the two of us run this ship?”

Mrs Hudson smiled. “Of course, dear. I managed before Sherlock came along.”

“How do we unfurl the sails?” John asked. He felt rather inadequate as a pirate now Sherlock was in danger. He hadn't done any sailing since a school trip he'd been on when he was eleven. 

“Oh there's no need for that,” Mrs Hudson said. “We've got a motor.”

Even though the ship had a motor and an electric winch to raise the anchor it still took rather longer than John would have liked to get under way. He'd hauled the gangplank aboard and had taken his place, on Mrs Hudson's suggestion, at the wheel. 

Mrs Hudson herself had gone down below to sort the engine out. She told John why she'd modified the ship. “Well it just seemed silly to have to wait for wind.”

Slowly the ship inched forward. They didn't have headlights but the Thames was mostly illuminated from buildings on the shore. John had never steered a ship, he couldn't even drive a car, but it was pretty straight forward. The wheel didn't feel strange in his hands. 

“I don't even know if port is left,” he muttered to himself. He just hoped that his hunch was correct and that the abandoned tourist boat was where the killer had taken Sherlock. 

It took longer than John had imagined to travel a mile up the Thames but then the motor was small for the size of the boat, all Mrs Hudson could afford.. They were close when Mrs Hudson reappeared from the lower decks.

“I thought you might need these,” she said, handing John a pair of pistols. They looked old, exactly the sort a pirate would use. “Sherlock forgot to show you the armoury,” she said. 

John took them gratefully, still balancing the wheel with one hand “Thank you.” 

“Just yell when you need the anchor dropped dear,” Mrs Hudson said. 

Soon John could see the tourist boat in the distance. There were a few lights on but that didn't tell him much. He wasn't sure how close he could get to the boat. He decided alongside might be best but he had to give it a wide berth. 

As they got closer, John could make out a taxi parked on the shore near to the boat. Focusing on the boat itself he saw a plank and two figures who appeared to be fighting. The ship drew closer still and John could see Sherlock, a cutlass drawn and the other man, presumably the cab driver, with a sword. John could hear the clash of metal. 

When they were as close as he dared take the ship he yelled down to Mrs Hudson. “Stop! Drop anchor!”

The rumble of the engine slowly ground to a halt and for a terrible moment John was worried that they were going to overshoot. He came down onto the deck, pistols in each hand. He went to the side and saw Sherlock precariously balanced on the end of the plank, the cab driver holding the sword close to his chest. 

Taking aim John raised the pistol in his right hand and hoped that pistols worked the same way as handguns did. He took careful aim, right at the chest of the taxi driver. He pulled the trigger and felt the pistol recoil in his hand, and there was a smell of burning gunpowder, but his shot was straight and true. He saw the impact on the taxi driver who stumbled along the plank and into the water. 

Unfortunately that action made the plank so unstable that Sherlock was knocked off balance.

“Sherlock!” John yelled. “Captain!”

John held his breath as Sherlock fell but then Sherlock caught the edge of the plank with his free hand. John's heart was in his mouth as he watched the plank wobble and shake. Carefully, Sherlock placed his cutlass holding arm on the plank and slowly hauled himself up. 

“I'm all right, John,” he said. “Good shot!”

John smiled. Not only was Sherlock all right but he'd also praised John's skill with a pistol. It didn't get any better than that. 

“Do you want any help?” John asked.

“Send me a rope over,” Sherlock said. 

Although John wasn't that familiar with the ship's rigging he did manage to untie a rope and send it over. Sherlock took it and leaping off the plank swung his way onto the deck, landing perfectly in front of John with not one part of his costume out of place. 

“First Mate, John,” Sherlock said, putting and arm around John and pulling him toward him. 

Really, John wasn't that surprised when Sherlock gave him a quick, but firm kiss. “I've decided that as a Captain can do whatever he likes I will fraternise with my first mate as much as I want.”

“Thank god for that, Captain,” John replied, grinning and he pulled Sherlock in for another kiss. 

Of course, all the commotion had drawn the attention of the police, who had finally traced the phone. Sherlock and John had to come ashore to explain what had happened. Sherlock told them how the taxi driver had made him a bet that Sherlock couldn't outwit him and Sherlock, being a pirate Captain, had taken up the challenge. 

“He gave them a choice of two swords,” Sherlock said. “One was real, the other was an imitation. They picked one and stabbed him. It was rigged so they always picked the fake. Whichever one they didn't pick he would then use to get them to walk the plank.”

“He forgot you had a cutlass then?” John asked.

“He also forgot I knew how to use it, but he wasn't behind it,” Sherlock said. “He was working for someone, another pirate. Moriarty.”

No-one had heard of the name before and Sherlock assured John he hadn't either. “Someone new,” he said. 

After the police had finally departed, Sherlock and John were about to go aboard ship when the mysterious black car pulled up again. The door opened and the man stepped out. 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock growled. 

“I heard about your little incident,” the man, Mycroft Sherlock had called him, said. “I thought I'd make sure you were all right.”

“We're fine,” Sherlock said. “He could hardly take on two pirates and win.”

“Ah, yes, you have a first mate. Or is he more than that?” Mycroft asked. “I'm sure if Mummy were here she'd love to know.”

“Mummy?” John asked. “So you're related?”

“This is Mycroft,” Sherlock said. “My insufferable brother who practically runs the government.”

“You know you could easily become a privateer,” Mycroft said. “We'd be happy to have you in our employ and it would make things more.. legal.”

“Not interested. I don’t need your approval, Mycroft.”

“Think about it,” Mycroft said, he smiled at John. “I'm sure you'll be an admirable first mate. Enjoy the hammocks.”

“I'm sure I will,” John said, slightly confused.

Mycroft got back into his car and it drove off leaving Sherlock and John alone. 

“What was that about?”

“My brother has never approved of my career choices,” Sherlock said. “Come along, John, we need to get you a hat.”

“A hat?” John asked.

Sherlock fingered his own impressive Pirate Captain’s hat. “All pirates wear a hat John.”

Back on board ship Sherlock went searching through several trunks he kept on one of the lower decks. He tossed out various items of clothing: belts, boots, scarves and shirts. 

“What are you looking for?” John asked, dodging a flying boot.

“A hat, John!” Sherlock replied, throwing yet more clothing about. “You need a hat and I know I had the perfect one in here somewhere.”

“Do you not have a hat trunk?” John asked. 

Sherlock stopped and looked at John amazed. “That's a brilliant idea, John! We'll implement that tomorrow when we check the inventory.”

Smiling, John felt rather pleased with himself. Even pirates needed some sort of order.

“Aha!” Sherlock said, pulling out a hat. It was black and three-cornered. He went up to John and carefully paced it on his head. 

Unfortunately the hat fell forward, covering John's eyes. “I think it's too big, Sherlock,” John said. 

“Yes,” Sherlock relied, pulling it off and throwing it to one side. 

Not long after he found another, but that was too small. Then out came a third, but it smelt a little too strongly of fish.

“I am not wearing that,” John said, firmly. “Captain Sherlock it stinks.”

Giving it a sniff, Sherlock wrinkled his nose up. “Perhaps you're right, John.”

Finally, hat number four looked promising, Sherlock brushed it off and carefully placed it on John's head. It fit perfectly. A nice black three-cornered pirate hat that did not smell of fish. John almost wished he had a mirror. 

Then suddenly Sherlock took it off. “Right, come on, John, time for the hat presenting ceremony.”

“There's a ceremony?” John asked as Sherlock dragged him back onto the top deck.

“Of course there's a ceremony!” 

Mrs Hudson was already waiting for them as Sherlock instructed John to stand in the middle. Unconsciously, John stood to attention, as if he was on parade. The slight smile Sherlock had suggested it was the right thing. Every Captain had an ego after all. 

Holding the hat in two hands, Sherlock stood opposite John and began to speak. “First Mate John Watson, do you accept this hat and the responsibilities it carries?”

“I do,” John answered firmly.

“And do you swear to live by the pirate code?”

“I do.” John almost felt as if he were agreeing to wedding vows. He managed to keep a straight face.

“And do you promise to obey your Captain?”

John didn’t answer immediately so Sherlock spoke again. “Do you promise to mostly obey your captain? Sherlock asked.

“I do.”

“Then as Captain of this ship, I formally pronounce you First Mate,” Sherlock said and he stepped forward to gently place the hat on John's head. 

As he stepped back, Mrs Hudson began to clap. She sniffed slightly “Oh it's lovely,” she said. 

“Is this the bit where we kiss?” John asked. 

Sherlock didn't speak but leant down and did just that. 

After being formally presented with his official first mate hat, John wanted to turn in for the night. Slowly he climbed into one of the hammocks, only to find himself slipping out and falling onto the wooden floorboards. 

He tried again but this time got twisted up in the hammock to the point where it felt as if it was constricting him. “Sherlock!” he said. “Help!”

Sherlock chuckled. “Honestly, John, you're suited to be a pirate in every other way, surely you can manage a hammock.”

Carefully, Sherlock untangled John and John could finally lie in a hammock without fear of injury. But then it started swinging more side to side as Sherlock clambered in next to him. 

“Are we sharing a hammock?” John asked.

“It's better for balance,” Sherlock said. “Is this a problem?” 

“No, no,” John said. “It's fine. It's nice actually.”

They were snuggled together, safely wrapped in a hammock. John really couldn’t believe how his life had changed so drastically. He started to giggle.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“It's just... we're pirates,” John said. 

Sherlock kissed him. “Yes,” he said. “We are.”

“I never thought I'd be a pirate,” John admitted. 

“I never thought I'd have a decent crew,” Sherlock said. “Thank you, John.”

Slowly, they drifted off to sleep. The hammock rocked gently and they were warm with only one blanket over them. 

“John?” Sherlock said, quietly. “I think we need a parrot.”

“Tomorrow,” John said. 

That night he dreamt of adventure of the high seas and a charismatic pirate captain. What more did he need? He was John Watson, pirate, first mate to Pirate Captain Sherlock Holmes. There was nowhere else he would rather be.


End file.
